


Scalded

by MorteMistrata



Series: Overwatch recall [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes is a Little Shit, Medium Burn, because I too run out of patience when the romance takes too long, mei wants to learn bout the outback, mei-ling zhou is a nice person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: Due to the radiation from the destroyed Omnium, children born in the Outback are a little...off. Mei is a scientist, and thus it is in her nature to notice such things. As she tries to do a conclusive study of the effects of the destroyed Omnium fusion core, she finds that there is more to the Junkers than meets the eye.





	1. Introductions and arrivals

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to do a long-term story for once, and so I'm aiming for at least twenty chapters this time around. I gotta warn you, I'll probably forget to update if y'all don't comment; I'll forget that I'm supposed to write another chapter, and then it'll never get written. Thanks for reading, and as always, read and review.

**“Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong, and stupid and foolish.” - Chuck Palahniuk**

 

Mei drags her suitcase down the bus steps, wincing everytime it hits the hard metal stairs, and searches for her contact in the thin, midday crowds. The message Winston had sent her had been short and lacking in details, so she’s not sure who exactly to look for. Mccree, with his conspicuous cowboy hat, and red serape? Or Torbjorn, who’s gruffness and loud volume was always accompanied with a sense of endearment? She clutches the handle of her bag so tightly that it starts to imprint against her palm. Everything she owns is inside that bag, and it makes her anxious to carry it around with her, where anything could happen to it. 

 

“Mei!” A familiar voice calls, her name rising about the sounds of the crowd. The accent is slightly musical, and certainly familiar, but… A blond woman pushes past a young family, her hair pulled up into a high ponytail that sways as she walks. Her white dress hangs down to her ankles, with a slit that rises to mid thigh on each side. It reminds Mei of a doctor’s coat. It clicks, just as the woman calls to her again. “Mei, there you are!” 

 

Mei smiles as Angela Ziegler steps forward, arms held open in invitation of a hug. “Angela!” She barrels into her friend’s awaiting arms, forgetting her suitcase as she hugs her old friend. “I didn’t know it would be you!”

 

It has been a year since she’d awoken from cryosleep, eight months since she’d stumbled upon that Vishkar research base, and six since she’d resumed her duties as a climatologist. The novelty of constant human contact has long since worn off, but she can feel that same feeling of elation rise up inside of her once more; this is different. This is not the reunion of Mei with humanity. It is the reunion of Mei and her friend. 

 

“How could I possibly miss coming to get you after all those years?”Angela laughs and returns her hug, and then pulls back to study her face. “Ten years, and you haven’t aged a day.”

 

A wave of sadness encroaches on her pleasant mood as she is reminded of her dead teammates, left in their cryogenic pods for what will likely be decades, but she quickly pushes the thought aside, careful not to let her smile slip. 

 

“I’m glad you think so. I felt so old living with all of those Vishkar prodigies. Some of them were even younger than you when you joined overwatch!” Mei exclaims as she picks up her bag once more. “And look at you,” Mei says, pulling back to survey her friend. “You haven’t changed at all.” 

 

“Thank you, Mei.” Angela says with a smile. “Are you ready to go?”

 

Mei nods, and picks up her suitcase. Angela looks around for another one, cheeks warming slightly as she realizes that all that Mei owns fits into a singular suitcase. She only has what she could carry on her person during her escape from Ecopoint: Antarctica, and that had not been much. Most of what’s in her bag now is just her supplies: Snowball and his charging station, her endothermic blaster, and her old cell phone, now only useful in it’s collection of pictures and other personal files. 

 

Mei’s neck goes hot as she recognizes the look of pity in her friend’s eye, the one she is trying desperately to hide. “So, how far away is Watchpoint: Gibraltar from here?” She asks, and the awkwardness passes, leaving only the lingering heat inside of her collar to remind her of it.

 

“Oh, not too far, but we have to be cautious, so we’ll be circling for a while before we actually get there.” Angela replies as she turns and leads her to a inconspicuously painted white car parked at the kiss and ride section of the bus station. “Do you need anything before we set off?”

 

“I’m fine. I’m just anxious to get back.” Mei says. “It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere familiar.” 

 

The car is one of those fancy ones with seats that face each other, separated from the driver’s cabin, which is currently empty, as Athena guides the car back to base. Mei sits in the seat facing forward, and Angela sits across from her, legs crossed, hands placed primly in her lap. For the first few minutes of their ride, they sit in a comfortable silence, as Angela glances periodically at her, to the window and back again, and Mei tries to take in the sights. She can tell that Angela has something to say to her (even after ten years, she hasn’t changed a bit), but she doesn’t pry. Angela is a private woman with many secrets; She is not the type to spill something carelessly. 

 

They pass by a coffee shop, and a video game store as the car drives them through the outskirts of town, and it’s as they make a u-turn for another loop that she finally breaks.

 

“Mei,” She says, voice hesitant. “What do you know about the reasons behind the recall?”

 

Not much, admittedly. She hadn’t asked many questions beyond who would be there and how fast she could come, as the mere thought of getting to see her old friends once more was all of the convincing that she needed. “Not much. I was wary of looking into it too much on the journey here.” She explains. “I didn’t want to raise any flags if anyone was looking.”

 

“Smart of you.” Angela says, turning to watch the lights of a cop car flash in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant as they pass by. The car pulled over beside it is dirty, but has the same make and model as the one that they are riding in. Idly, she wonders how a car with autonomous driving could possibly break a traffic law, but then sets the thought aside as Angela sighs. “Winston plans on briefing you when we arrive, but I feel that given your history with Overwatch, it might be best for you to hear this in private.”

 

“Hear what?”

 

“Do you remember what happened to Amelie Lacroix?”

 

Mei starts and feels the intense urge to look away from Angela’s concerned gaze. People don’t speak of Amelie anymore, not after Ana’s death at her hands. It was considered a huge failure of security on Overwatch’s part for allowing a family member of an agent to be kidnapped, and had led to a small exodus of agents who’d decided that fighting the good fight wasn’t worth losing their loved ones. Mei had stayed, but she had had second thoughts upon hearing of it. 

 

“I- yes, I remember.”

 

“The organization she works for, Talon, has begun to hunt down Overwatch members, even those currently not working with us. There was a break-in the day that Winston sent the recall where Reaper,” The name is unfamiliar, but Angela’s face twinges when she says the name, as if it brings up bad memories. “Tried to steal data pertaining to their locations. If you had not responded to the recall, you likely would have been found dead in a month or two. I believe that there is safety in numbers, but by answering the recall, you’ve painted an even larger target above your head.” 

 

Mei muses over this as the car continues to drive. She’d been on the move since she’d left Ecopoint: Antartica, collecting data and trying to make a comprehensive case on global warming and how technology based off of her endothermic blaster might be able to slow, or even stop it. She’d been wary of getting cut off from the world once more, and so had been meticulously keeping records, and sending them off into the world once a month, along with keeping a public journal of her travels. In short, she hadn’t been very incognito. Angela is right; it wouldn’t have been hard at all to track her down and- and-  _ kill _ her.

 

Mei adjusts her hairpin and straightens up a little. “Then I am glad that I came, and hope that I will be able to help to thwart their plans.”

 

Angela smiles at her uneasily, as if not convinced that Mei should be involved, but says nothing, and allows them to relapse into quiet. 

 

The ride to Overwatch’s new headquarters is slow, and despite still having questions, both personal and professional, to ask Angela, Mei quickly succumbs to the monotony of the ride, and her lingering exhaustion from all of her traveling, and falls asleep until they arrive.

 

“We’re here.” Angela says as the car door slides open, casting bright light into Mei’s eyes. 

 

Mei follows after her blindly, squinting as her eyes adjust. Her hand stays wrapped around the handle of her suitcase, which bangs loudly against the side of the car before falling to the ground. “Sorry, Snowball.” She mutters, hoping that he hasn’t been hurt during their journey.

 

“I’m sorry?” Angela asks, concerned. 

 

Mei hardly registers her question as another car pulls into the driveway. A dirty yellow motor bike with an attached sidecar is pulled along behind it like a child tugging it’s toy. The bike would have been enough to rouse Mei’s attention, with it’s old rubber tires, and classic chassis, but it’s the state of the car that holds it. The car looks much more beat down than the one she and Angela had ridden in. Or no, not more beat down, but dirtier. There are dusty handprints all along the side, and the left half of the car tilts down towards the ground, hovering perhaps only an inch above the asphalt. If she’s right, that’s the same one they had passed by earlier.

 

Angela notices Mei’s staring and follows her gaze. “Hmm,” She hums pensively. “I did not know that we were expecting another arrival today, though it’s possible that they contacted Winston after I left.” 

 

Mei wonders who they could be. She doesn’t think any of her old friends were the type for motorcycles, so she knows that this will have to be someone new.

 

The car door opens. 

 

A man steps out, and the car rocks from side to side as it stabilizes. He is tall, taller than any man Mei has ever seen before, except for Reinhardt, and large, with a large gut, large hands, large everything. She notes that he is shirtless, which is strange, and that he wears a mask, shaped like a pig’s snout with two air filters attaches, which is stranger. He lifts his arms and stretches, and she realizes something else: he is heavily armed. There’s a large gun strapped to his side, and hanging from his belt is a hook and chain. Mei is too far away to be certain, but she thinks that the sharpened tip of it is stained a rusted red. 

 

Mei might have stared impolitely at him a while longer, if not for the other door slamming open and shut again. Her attention snaps to the sound, and she notes another man, shorter, but not short, with yellow hair, a bare chest, and dust covering every inch of bare skin. He grins, and Mei starts at the sight of it. That grin is not the kind of grin that one makes in public, where other people might see it. It’s a private kind of smile, the kind that Mei would try to keep hidden had she one like it of her own, and quite honestly, seems more than a little maniacal in nature. He stretches, and something cracks as he lifts his arms- one flesh, one a gaudy orange prosthetic- in the air. 

 

“G’day mates! We’re here for that job o’ yours.” When neither of them manages to form a reply, he leans forward, eyebrow raised suspiciously. “Weren’t it you lot who called for help? That Winston guy o’ yours wanted the heavies,” He thumbs back at the large man beside him as he grabs something cylindrical off of his harness and tosses it in the air like a child playing will a ball. Angela tenses beside her, and Mei looks closer. She’s not very knowledged on the matter, but if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that it was a bomb. “An’ Me and Hog here can hold our own.” 

 

Mei places the accent then, and it all clicks. The worn prosthetics, the dirt, the bike- these two are from the Outback. She doesn’t know much about Australia, except that it’s irradiated, and impossibly, still inhabited. After the evacuations ended, the rest of the world kind of just… left it alone. Rumors about the place still float around, but that’s all they are: rumors. Mei wonders how the two of them managed to leave the place, and what effects the radiation has had on them.  Besides that, they’re out of place, left separate from the rest of the interconnected world just as she still is; Mei decides to do something about it. 

 

She steps forward and offers the two of them her most warm and friendly smile. “Glad to hear it. My name is Mei, and you are?” She offers her hand to the smaller man, and waits for his reaction, whatever it may be.

 

The man looks from her hand to her face, then up again, and then his expression shifts into a bashful grin. He crosses the distance between them in two bounds, and looms over her, much taller than she’d initially thought. His eyes latch onto her own, and she notes that they’re orange, a bright, nearly glowing orange, and then he grabs her hand, and shakes it twice. 

 

“M’name’s Junkrat, and my buddy here’s called Roadhog. Nice to meet your acquaintance.” 

 

Angela seems to have recovered from the surprise of two Junkers showing up at their door, and offers the two a welcoming smile. If Mei hadn’t known her for so long, she might not have noticed the wariness in her gaze. “Welcome to Overwatch. I was just about to take Mei on a tour of the facilities. Would you care to join us?”

 

“Don’t mind if I do.” Junkrat says as he saunters forward, the grenades attached to his harness banging against one another as he moves. Roadhog follows behind him wordlessly. Angela leads them inside the base, and Mei thinks about Junkrat’s eyes, orange and volatile, like the heart of a campfire, raging with the desire to consume all around it.


	2. Dabbling in insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I high-key wrote this chapter, and then forgot to post it. :) But it's here now! Enjoy, and please remember to read and review.

  
  


**“Life is nothing without a little chaos to make it interesting.” -Terrence McKenna**

  
  


_ The world outside Mei’s window is white; the intricacies of the snowfall, the mountains in the distance, and the communications tower in the courtyard are all lost to the fury of the storm. Mei likes the storms. She likes the way the wind whistles through the outer halls, chills the outside doors until you can feel the ice against your skin even on the other side. When she lived in China or at the Gibraltar base, the rain had been her comfort, the sound of it always capable to lull her to sleep. Here, it is the snow that sings to her, making her eyelids fall heavy above weary eyes.  _

 

_ She sets her laptop aside, and stretches, her back cracking. She’s been working on going through their most recent data, and had planned on finishing long ago, but it seems like she has much more than she’d anticipated. Years worth, perhaps.  _

 

_ It’s a strange thought, one that lingers in her mind as she stands, and tucks her laptop under her arm. Why would she have years worth of data? Why would she have to deal with such a large amount on her own? If anything, she should only have a few months worth to go through, no more than that. Mei pauses, and stares at her laptop. It should only take a moment to check how old this data is. Only a moment to be certain- _

 

_ The wind howls behind her, and a harsh breeze tousles her hair. She yelps in surprise, and the laptop falls to the ground with a crack. She glances down at it, decides to leave it be for the moment.  _

 

_ Is the door open? She turns to check, and suddenly she can’t move. Her arms are at her sides, and the glass in front of her is fogged over with condensation. She’s stuck, she can’t get out. She opens her mouth to scream for help, but no one is listening, no one is ever listening. _

 

Mei wakes tangled in her sheets, and covered in sweat. Her heart beats so loudly, she swears that it’s echoing, and her lungs are so constricted, it feels like she can hardly breathe. She knows where she is now, knows that the snow and ice, and years lost are far away from here, but she feels like she’s being strangled by the terror of it all. She claws blindly at the covers until they pull free from her legs, and pulls her shirt over her head, struggling as the sleeve catches on her arms. The sound of her frantic breathing fills the room as she strips and crawls back onto her bed, and lies sweaty and half naked on top of the snowflake patterned blankets. 

 

Mei hadn’t dreamed in her nearly ten years of cryosleep, but it seems that she’s making up for that now. For the past few months, she’s been dreaming of Ecopoint: Antartica. The nightmares used to be regular; a promise that she would suffer if she dared to close her eyes, but as she’d moved on and started to travel, an objective pinpointed half the globe away to guide her and keep her occupied, the dreams had started to fade away. For a while, she’d thought that they were vanquished, and dead, but every time she’d thought it was over, they’d return, vibrant and unexpected. Any defenses she’d had against them would be long gone, and she’d be left a shivering, sweating mess, just like she is now. 

 

“I’m okay.” She says, and her voice is too weak to even convince herself. “I’ll be fine.” She says again, and this time, she can believe it. She  _ will _ be fine. Maybe not now, but she has faith that one day her words will be true. 

 

The air conditioning blares in the corner of her room, and combined with her near nakedness and her fading adrenaline, she starts to grow cold. She sighs, pulls on a new pair of pajama shorts and a matching tank top, and slips on her slippers. Crawling back under the covers would be an option if she hadn’t felt so restricted when she’d first woken up, but she doesn’t think she’s calm enough to go back to bed just yet. Tea will help, Mei thinks. Tea always helps. 

 

Mei steps out into the empty hall, looks both ways and finds no one there to ask why she’s up at 4 a.m. She starts towards the kitchen. 

  
  


Mei had received the recall on the train back from telling Opara’s family of his fate. The unfamiliar scenery, and his parent’s weathered, blank faces had her feeling cold again; like cryofreeze was just out of her reach, ready to consume her at the slightest slip. This happened every time she told a family about their dead son/daughter/lover/sibling. It wasn’t always the same. Sometimes there would be anger; her cheek burned at the memory of a sister’s angry slap. Sometimes there would be denial; an elderly mother swore that her son was still at Ecopoint: Antartica, despite having been shut down ten years ago. But of them all, Mei thought that blank acceptance was the worst.

 

Her phone had been half charged, and useless anyways, except as a data bank. It had been out of service for years, and outdated by miles compared to the newest innovations. Even so, it had rung. Mei had been half asleep, lulled into a daze by the emotional turmoil of the day and the gentle movement of the train as it rocketed down the track towards some small, dinky Arizona town. Mei had nearly blocked it out; it couldn’t be hers. Barely anyone knew she was alive, and even fewer still had this number. The woman next to her nudged her shoulder annoyedly, and gestured at her vibrating purse. Eyes wide, she’d dug it out and stared at the name on the screen: Winston. 

 

Her hands had shook as she’d answered it, and they shook even worse after the message had ended. 

 

A recall was illegal. She could be in big trouble if she answered. Even so, Mei knew what she was going to do. It wasn’t even a choice. Where else could a dead girl walking go?

  
  


Mei steps into the kitchen. The lights are on, and she has to squint against the light as her eyes adjust. 

 

“Hello?” Her throat is dry, making her words barely audible. “Who’s there?”

 

“Oh, uh, hello Mei,” Winston says as he closes the refrigerator door. His hands are full with several peanut butter jars, and a container of grapes. An odd combination, she thinks, but she’s seen Jesse eat bacon and poptarts in the same mouthful, so she supposes she really shouldn’t judge. “Here for a midnight snack?”

 

He’s giving her an out. She’s not the only one whos still has nightmares, though she supposes that some are worst that others. Mei briefly considers what Winston might dream of: his failures, or his successes? Neither are very kind to remember.

 

Mei plucks a grape from the bag, and leans back against the counter; she prefers avoidance to headstrong confrontation, and so takes his offered escape. 

 

“Yes. I was hoping we’d have some leftovers.” She knows that it’s a thin excuse.. Back in the golden days, they used the cafeteria, not the kitchen, and had cooks to make meals for them. Now, dinner is a rotating chore, and from what she’d seen that evening, it is unlikely that anything is left over. “But I’d settle for a PB&J.”

 

Winston smiles, and hands her one of his jars. “Good thing you caught me when you did. I don’t think I left any peanut butter in the pantry.”

 

Mei grabs the loaf of bread resting on the counter, and pulls out two slices. She turns and rummages through the fridge until he finds a half-empty jar of strawberry jam, and a carton of milk. She should know which drawer holds the butter knives and other cutlery, but the location doesn’t come to mind. She grabs a carving knife from the block on the counter instead. 

 

“So,” She slathers a generous amount of jelly onto one slice as Winston readjusts his collection of food into a more manageable pile. “Who else is coming back?”

 

“It’s dangerous to respond to the recall, more so the farther you are from Gibraltar, so there are no concrete numbers.”

 

“But you can guess.”

 

Winston scowls, but acquiences. “Yes, I suppose I can conjecture a vague idea.”

 

Mei grins as she spreads a bit of peanut butter on the other slice, and presses the two pieces together. It’s been a while, but Winston hasn’t changed at all; he’s still unable to resist earnest questions, despite how much he may dislike having to answer them. “And your conjecture is?”

 

“Mccree, Reinhardt. Possibly a few new faces, if circumstances allow. Mercy was trying to get in contact with Genji, but that could go either way.” 

 

That’s… not a lot. Much less than she’d expected anyways. Back in the day, Overwatch had been huge. Surely some of those former members would be interested in rejoining, with all of the bad things going on in the world today. Overwatch wasn’t something you chose on a whim, after all. 

 

“What about the others?” Mei persists. “Surely more than just- just a handful would’ve responded.”

 

Winston shakes his head. The collection of food in his arms makes him look silly, despite his somber expression. “Many people changed their names, or went off grid. Others… others died.”

 

“Died, or were killed?” She asks, voice quiet. 

 

The refrigerator hums, and casts sickly light on the profile of his face. Winston looks away from her inquisitive gaze, uncomfortable with either the question or the answer. 

 

“ _ Winston. _ ” She insists, shifting to stay in his line of sight. 

 

He sighs, and stares guiltily at the floor. “We- we’re not exactly sure.”

 

Mei stares at her sandwich. She wasn’t all that hungry before, but now the thought of eating has her stomach rolling. “Is that why you hired them- the Junkers?”

 

“That’s part of it. I didn’t want Talon getting their claws on them either.”

 

“I-” Mei pauses, and shakes her head. She’s in her pajamas. It’s the middle of the night. This is too much to deal with at the moment, especially with her nightmare fresh on her mind. “Okay.” She picks up her sandwich and folds it in a napkin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”


	3. Herald to change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit to write. I honestly forgot about it for a while. There was also that one guy who got on my nerves about my updates... but it's all fine! I finished this. Please enjoy and don't forget to read and review.

**“It's a cruel and random world, but the chaos is all so beautiful.”**

**―** **Hiromu Arakawa**

 

The invitation arrived via a drone, which Roadie immediately hooked, and attempted to destroy. Not a bad idea, considering that most drones and technological thing-a-ma-bob’s were very much out to get them, but Junkrat wanted to use the parts to upgrade his riptire for a longer distance before detonation, and so the unlucky thing was saved from being immediately and completely scrapped, only to be carefully taken apart with the use of a crooked screwdriver and a lot of cursing. 

 

Another drone flew into their territory a few days later, wearing a sign that read “Don’t shoot”, in thick, LED letters. Roadhog shot it anyway, and Junkrat made two more long distance rip-tires. If he was smart about it, he thought he might even be able to get ‘em close to the Queen’s inner sanctum before being forced to detonate. 

 

The invitation that they actually ended up reading was tied to another drone, which was only spared from Roadie’s hook due to the rather eye-catching instructions on it’s new sign. ‘Don’t shoot. Monetary compensation offered’. Junkrat had stepped forward carefully, and waited for the thing to land right outside their base of operations. As it hit the sand, the sign’s words shifted, and a video message began to play. 

 

“Hello. This is Winston speaking, representing the newly reformed Overwatch organization.” An image of a large, talking monkey appeared onscreen. He wore a pair of glasses, which was pretty strange for a monkey, and fiddled with them nervously as he spoke. “And I, uh, I hope you didn’t shoot this one down, because I have a proposition for you.” The monkey was replaced with some kind of diagram labeled with a lot of confusing words and colors. Junkrat scowled and made to hit the side of the screen in annoyance, only for Roadhog to catch his arm before he could make contact. 

 

“Don’t.” He breathed. Roadhog pointed back to the screen, which was still babbling on and about some enemy or another. “Listen.”

 

“It’s got nothing important to tell me about!” He scowled. “He’s been talking and he’s not said a thing about money!”

 

As if timed to immediately contradict him, the monkey’s image switched back on. “If you were to come to Gibraltar and help with our operations, we would be able to provide amnesty and protection from the law, given out eventual official reinstatement, as well as a salary of-” 

 

Junkrat didn’t quite hear that part. He’d gotten stuck on the concept of a salary instead. A real, honest to god salary with a bank account and money that he didn’t have to steal! To think, someone like him, kicked out from Junkertown and on the lam in three different continents, getting a legitimate job. He could hardly believe it. Despite their worldwide reputation, despite their background and notoriety, the monkey still wanted to hire them on as ‘demolition experts’. 

 

Normally, Junkrat would’ve ignored the offer; look at where his last attempt at going legit had got ‘em? But the monkey wasn’t a suit (Junkrat doubted he could even fit in one, in any case), and Overwatch was just as illegal as they were. If he decided to double cross; well he’d be in just as much trouble as Junkrat would be; and if he actually kept up his side of the deal? Well the pay wasn’t anything to scoff at, and even better, they were getting paid for a service they already provided for free! Mayhem and destruction, and all under the cover of legitimacy. How much better could it get?

 

Or at least, that’s what Junkrat had thought. As it turns out, the fluff and prissiness of legit life also comes with a helluva lot of limitations. 

 

“Wha’d’ya mean I can’t work on my frag launcher in ‘ere? There’s plenty of room.” Junkrat  gestures to the empty cafeteria. The doctor shelia sits in one corner across the room, a cup of coffee in one hand, a book in the other, but she hardly seemed to noticed them, even now. “And I’m only working on the small bits.”

 

Winston looks down at him blankly, and sighs. The sound reminds him of the sound of a mech-battle, the suits releasing air, and steam as pistons moved to raise arms and legs to strike another, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the air. Blood would linger in the cracks of the suits joints and in the sensitive ball bearings, and the whole arena would stink of death because of it, even when the bodies were cleared away.

 

“...within the main building. If something goes wrong, the structural integrity will cause at least part of it to collapse, and we don’t have the money to fix it, and to pay your salary. Do you understand?”

 

Junkrat does not, but he  _ does _ recognize an insult to his honor. He stands, and straightens up, but even without his slouch, his height is not enough to be intimidating, just like with Roadhog. Where’s a bodyguard when you need one? Still, he presses on.

 

“Oi, are you implying that I don’t know my shit?”Junkrat cradles the barrel of his launcher like a child, and gently rubs his thumb on a smudge of ash that comes off on his finger, turing his skin a darker shade of grey. “She’s my gal, she is, and I know how to take care of ‘er. I haven’t blown anything up not on purpose since my leg, and that’s been three years at least!”

 

Winston is not impressed by his three-year mistake free period. He points at the door leading outside, where a lone building sits out by the cliffs, a sign labeled ‘Workshop’ hanging above it. “You can work on explosives out there, all you like, but you will not do so in the dining hall.” He gives Junkrat a meaningful look, and then stalks back into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, secure in his assumption that Junkrat won’t go against a direct order.

 

Unwise assumption, Junkrat thinks. He’s never been one to listen to anything but his own instinct, and that’s never led him wrong. Well, except for the time he’d messed up his leg. Or when he’d crossed the Queen. Or when he’d bragged about his treasure to get that shelia to like him, and had ended up on the business end of her rifle instead. 

 

“The workshop is not so bad,” The doctor says, not looking up from her book. “And I believe that Mei will be joining you later. She might appreciate the company.”

 

Junkrat glares at the half finished grenade. It’ll be a pain to set up outside again, but if Mei would want the company… Well, she was real hospitalitable to him yesterday. He scowls and sweeps the bits and bobs of his unfinished bombs into his bag. He slings his launcher over his shoulder, and grabs a gunpowder dusted sandwich off of his tray. “Foine. Alright. Guess I oughta get used to not being the boss no more. Working man’s burden an all.” He starts towards the door, then stops, and grabs another sandwich off his tray. As he heads outside, he swears the doctor was smiling at him.

  
  
  


Mei wakes sometime after noon, with the taste of her midnight snack still lingering on her tongue. Her eyes feel heavy when she opens them, and for a moment, she considers closing them again, and going back to sleep. Sleep makes everything feel better. Sleep would prevent her from having to think on what Winston had told her last night, and the implications of that new information. Sleep, however, refuses to return to her, no matter how hard Mei tries to succumb to her lingering exhaustion.

 

With a groan, she pulls herself out of bed, and into her bathroom for a morning shower. She turns the water on hot- hot enough for it to turn her skin red as she slips under the spray. She runs a brush through her tangled hair, and lathers her skin with soap that runs off her body in white streams that blends with the white tile beneath her. 

 

Despite her best efforts, her thoughts return to the day before. At the edge of her mind, she can feel her conversation with Winston lingering in her subconscious, and despite her best efforts, it forces its way to the forefront of her mind. Talon is hunting people connected to Overwatch, and even though their attempt to retrieve those files from Gibraltar failed, they’ve been successful in their ambiguous murders. If she hadn’t come back… But doesn’t being directly involved make her even more of a target than usual? Doesn’t it make things worse, since she’s helping? And besides, there were thousands of people involved with Overwatch; she hadn’t even dealt with the political or military side of it. Her job was to deal with science. There must have been thousands of people above her on the hit list, if it even went down that far. 

 

Did she make the right choice?

 

If she were a criminal like Junkrat, she might’ve said yes. He had more to gain from Overwatch than she did; the eventual pardoning of his crimes would be a big plus, as well as treatment for his radiation sickness. Or, well, his  _ assumed _ radiation sickness. Mei wasn’t a doctor and she wasn’t certain, but his eyes were orange. They were orange like fire, and if that wasn’t a sign that something was wrong, what was? What interested her particularly was the hue. She had heard of cases of purple or red eyes occurring occasionally. In fact, didn’t Moira had heterochromia? Red and blue, if she remembers right. But orange? Orange really didn’t occur in humans, even in those few cases of non-standard eye color. So why did it occur in him?

 

The radiation was the most obvious answer. Mei is a meteorologist, not a biologist or doctor, but even she knows the drastic effect that radiation can have on a person’s genetic code, especially if the effects are transferred from parent to child through the womb (which would undoubtedly get worse through continued exposure). It could be the answer- but then again, she can never be sure. Still, the color of his eyes interest her, far more than she cares to admit to. 

 

For the first time since the start of her career, she regrets not doing more medical studies; maybe then she would have a better idea of how he worked.

 

By the time she steps out of the shower, the water is little more than lukewarm and the room is covered in a thin layer of condensation. She dries off hurriedly, and combs her hair out one more time before piling it into a bun. She steps out into her room, and searches through her suitcase for her other set of clothes. Mei hadn’t brought much with her beyond that which was necessary for her research, and the basics needed to maintain her decency, and she was looking forward to getting some new things. Until then, all she has to wear is her spare set of clothes, which is much too warm for Gibraltar weather, even if she is planning on calibrating Snowball, and her thermal blaster later today. 

 

Mei slips her gear over her shoulder and steps out into the hall, the lights in her room shutting off behind her. The hallway is empty; a stark difference to the Overwatch she had known in its heyday. Back then, the halls had been filled with people, with the sounds of conversation and footsteps and the occasional chastising shout. Without the people there, Gibraltar was really nothing more than a faded memory. 

 

Her new room is closer to the outer walls than before, and it only takes a few moments to reach the outer areas. As she walks towards the lab, she notes the empty cafeteria, and deserted cliffs outside.

 

Mei knows that Angela is here, and Winston, as well as herself and the new recruits. That only makes four people in a base meant for a thousand. She remembers being told that others were coming, but even so, how much of a difference can twelve people make against the world? Back then, they had government backing, support from the whole world, access to the newest technology and most importantly of all, people to carry out their plans. How can they possibly make a difference without numbers, at the very least? Coming back was a bad idea. She should’ve just continued with her environmental studies on her own. She should’ve-

 

Mei walks into a wall where there should be a doorway. Or no, she thinks, as a hand reaches out to steady her. She has not run into a wall, but a person. 

 

“S-sorry.” She straightens her glasses, and looks up into the face of the person she’d bumped into. “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

 

“It’s alright. Takes a bit more than a bump to put me out of condition. You alright, darl’?”Junkrat  waits for her to catch her footing, and then lets go of her arm. 

 

“Sorry, sorry.” She says again. “I’m fine. Just… not used to how quiet this place is.” She looks past him at the workshop. It’s door is open, and she can see scattered supplies on the floor inside. “Are you working on something?”

 

“Oi, right I am. Gotta get up my stock before our first mission. Being legit means I oughta be responsible and all that, y’know?” He grins. “I’m even making me explosives outside, like the monkey said.”

 

“Winston,” Mei corrects.

 

“Yeah, him.”

 

“Well,” She adjust the straps of her supplies, and sticks her thumb beneath them, pulling them away from her chest. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to join you.”

 

He steps back, and holds the door open for her, bowing slightly at the waist. “Cheers mate. It’ll be nice to have some company with manners for once.” He looks back into the depths of the waist and calls, “Not like you, you rude, useless hunk!”

 

Despite herself, Mei laughs. Junkrat starts, as if surprised at the sound, but when he see her expression, returns the smile. Mei steps outside into the morning light, and basks in the sun’s rays. It’s not until she’s stepped inside of the workshop that she realizes that her impending anxiety attack has disappeared. Usually, Mei can do nothing to thwart them, and just has to deal with them. The last time that someone was able to talk her out of one was… before the cryo-freeze. 

 

Mei decides not to dwell on it too much as she steps inside the workshop. “So,” She says as Junkrat steps inside, and settles in the midst of what appears to be a selection of metal pieces. “Show me what you’ve been working on?”

 

His grin grows ever wider.


End file.
